


Dirk: Go fuck yourself

by WeirdFishes_Arpeggi



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Anal Sex, Bottom Dirk Strider, Choking, Dream Bubble Sex (Homestuck), Dream Bubbles, Face-Fucking, Fight Sex, I don't give a fuck about dream bubble mechanics actually, M/M, Masochism, Mildly Dubious Consent, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Self-cest, Top Bro
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-06-07
Updated: 2019-06-08
Packaged: 2020-04-12 05:44:38
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,868
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19125787
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WeirdFishes_Arpeggi/pseuds/WeirdFishes_Arpeggi
Summary: Dirk finds himself in a dream bubble with Bro. Porn ensues.





	1. Chapter 1

You wake up on the roof of your apartment. Except it’s not really yours; you’re surrounded by a city instead of the ocean, a city that looks almost unnatural, simulated, empty. Dream bubbles, most likely. You wonder if that means you’re dead. It’s not your memory.

Something whizzes past you, barely missing your right ear before flying past the edge of the roof, lost to the ground below. You see a blur in the corner of your eye as your sword drops into your hand with practiced ease. Well shit, you weren’t expecting a fight.

The next thing you know, you’re defending a sword attack with your own, an audible clang ringing across the roof. You finally see your attacker.

It’s you.

Significantly older, probably twenty years on you, but recognizably you nonetheless. 

Another swing, another block. He has you at a tactical disadvantage and seems significantly stronger. Damn, all your agility and an extra couple decades of training mean this is going to be a bit of challenge. You keep on the defense as he continues his attacks. He has you backing up, closer to the AC unit.

You flashstep to the side, giving you some room to rethink your tactics. He shows up behind you and you narrowly avoid an elbow to the back of your head with a quick duck. You use this to get an attack in that’s deftly blocked, and you’re nearly disarmed. Damn it, he’s stronger than you, and he knows his shit.

He begins attacking you at various angles, flashstepping around you, seemingly surrounding you from all sides. Shit. You’re able to block all of his attacks, but he’s fast. You don’t see the fist coming at you from the side, and you’re hit square in the face.

Something about this strikes you as admirable, and you have to suppress the thought that a few more of those would be dangerously close to being hot. Hurts like a bitch, and now your dick is awake. God fucking damn your masochistic streak, this isn’t the time.

You recover quickly and dodge more attacks, and you manage to pull a quick maneuver and kick his knee. He uses the momentum to push you back, sword against sword, and grab you by the arm, pulling you down. You consider yourself thoroughly fucked.

Your head hits the ground hard, and before you even register it as disorienting, another fist connects with your face. You lift your sword to try defending yourself, but you’re hit with a painful kick in the ribs. Shit, that might have actually broken something; you feel a sharp pain on your next breath in. He kicks you again, and your sword drops. Fuck it, you’re done.

He nudges you with his foot, then captchalogues his sword. He looms over you.

“The fuck are you doing here?” He asks.

It hurts to breathe. “Dream bubbles.”

This seems to answer his question. He keeps staring down at you. The ground is hot on your back.

“Get up,” he says.

You consider staying here in a fit of defiance, but it’s in your better interest to get up anyway. No use lying on the fucking ground like a useless asshole. You get up, you captchalogue your sword, and the second you’re up, he’s grabbing you by the jaw.

No use denying it, this move sends a jolt straight to your dick. You’re not going to consider the implications of getting turned on by yourself. Sometimes, getting roughed up by a guy stronger than you is just kind of fucking hot.

He stares at you, scanning your face. He has more defined features, looks clearly more adult than you. Not that you’re not an adult, just younger. Less rugged features. You’re glad you look good when you get older. Shit, there’s no way around it, this guy could  _ do things _ to you. You never said you weren’t easy.

His face is inscrutable to you, even as you. You stare at each other for a while, and he never lets go of your jaw. Fuck it, you’ll blink first. Nothing to lose.

You reach for his belt. He doesn’t move. You keep staring at him as you undo the buckle, and his grip tightens. You take this as a good sign and keep going until you feel his dick through his boxers. You try not to think too hard about the fact that it’s an exact copy of your own. His hand moves down to your throat, squeezing just hard enough to be uncomfortable. 

You reach beneath the hem, and feel the familiar warmth of dick in your hand, stroking him as he keeps on staring at you. You tuck his boxers beneath his balls, looking down to see what you’re doing. He lets go of you, and you drop to your knees.

He grabs the back of your head by your hair and shoves you down with little warning, and suddenly, you are choking on a mouthful of cock, hitting the back of your throat. Your face throbs with pain where you were hit. He pulls back, not enough to let his dick slip out, and practically slams your nose into his pelvis. 

Shame you can’t show off your blowjob skills, but you’re never going to complain about getting facefucked. You relax your mouth and let him thrust into your mouth, the grip on the back of your head reminding you of where your head hit the ground earlier. You get used to the motions, the feeling of his dick hitting the back of your throat, and reach down to fumble with your own belt and pants, pulling out your own identical dick, jerking yourself off.

God, you’ve never been more happy to be hung, and as you match your own stroking to the rhythm of his thrusts, your mind wanders. You wonder what it would feel like inside you. You could quite literally go fuck yourself.

His thrusts get more aggressive, and your jaw feels sore. You have to time your breathing to take sharp, quick breaths through your nose when he pulls back. You almost gag once or twice, but that’s part of the fun. Eventually, with final hard thrusts, the salty, alkaline taste of come fills your mouth.

He pulls back, and you sit there stroking your own dick, looking up at him. He stares at you as he puts himself away. Fuck, there is nothing not hot about this scenario, like it was ripped straight from the depths of your subconscious fantasies. You feel yourself getting close, and you stare back up at him, his face a look of impenetrable, silent judgment.

Your breathing gets heavier, your ribs hurting with each breath you take. Then, you come, jizzing on the ground like a goddamn degenerate. Dream bubbles, fuck it, you’re not going to deal with it.

You compose yourself, put your dick back in your pants, and stand up, your legs wobbly. Everything fucking hurts. You feel like a train decided to make itself way too familiar with every bone in your body, just fucking slamming into you.

He nods in the direction of the door. Surprisingly considerate. You follow him into his apartment.

  
  



	2. Chapter 2

Your older self heads straight for the bathroom. The hiss of the shower starts shortly thereafter. You silently curse your inability to do the same, but this isn’t your apartment. You look at the various ironically censored puppet decor lining the walls, the weapon-filled kitchen, the various Saw memorabilia strewn about. Everything but Saw tracks. Those movies are hard to ape, even ironically. Still, you feel oddly at home, comfortably familiar, in an alternate-universe kind of way.

You look at the computer in the corner. You wonder how fucking rude it would be to snoop, see what the fuck this guy does in his spare time, but to be quite honest, you don’t really give a fuck about being intrusive. The guy facefucked you not even ten minutes ago, and the sense of entitlement that comes with being the same person makes you fail spectacularly at giving a fuck. Knowing you, he’ll be in the shower for a hot minute.

The pain radiating through your body reminds you that you have more pressing concerns than snooping through his shit. You lift up your shirt, checking your ribs. Significant bruising, but pressing on them tells you they’re not wholly broken. You’ll be fine. You’re not sure if healing takes less time in dream bubbles, and you’d be pretty fucking pissed if you had to take it easy on account a few wounds. Your encounter with your older self left some interesting ideas in your head. Fighting, fucking, things that take having some level of functioning bodily constitution.

With that taken care of, you sit down at the computer and bring up the lock screen. You type in your own password, the one you’ve used or years on your own computer. Shocking absolutely fucking no one, this works.

The operating system is ancient by your standards, inefficient and slow. Damn, you pity him. Shit’s from the late 2000s, you can hardly be shocked. Might have to make a few modifications if you stick around for any time at all. Which, you’re not sure if you will. There’s certainly an incentive, and you’re not really sure what the alternative is. Endless meandering through a 

You find a few scripts for rudimentary AI, which he seems to use for puppet porn sites. The AI is trite and basic. He has decent code, efficient given the limitations of late 2000s technology. You could give him a handful of improvements, but you’re not sure how that would be received. One-upmanship through basic technological know-how would be something akin to a burn, but it could make things interesting, in the way that petty mind games with yourself and needless escalation constitute some form of fun. You decide you’ve seen enough, and put the computer back to sleep.

You carry yourself to the futon, shoving a small pile of smuppets out of the way, and wait for the guy to finish his endless fucking shower.

You take the bathroom when he’s done. Your eyes are blank white orbs in your sockets, and your face is a swollen, purple and yellow mess in the mirror. He can really throw a punch. You strip and inspect yourself more holistically. Nothing more than superficial. Cool.

You take your time in the shower, letting your mind wander, trying not to focus on how harsh the water beating down on your bruised skin feels. You wonder if you can find the materials to work on a few robots, fill your idle time in the afterlife with something at least marginally mentally stimulating. Might be better training than having your ass handed to you by a guy with twice your lifetime of training. Though, considering how the last strife went, you won’t mind taking him on more, either.

You’re about to open the shower curtain when you realize you’re not alone. You take a moment to consider the ethics of the situation; is consent implicit when the other person is quite literally you and the scenario can be reduced to more complicated masturbation through a series of mental gymnastics? You realize you fail to give a fuck, and it’s a fair assumption that your older self has come to the same conclusion. You open the curtain, bare ass fucking naked, to find him leaning against the sink.

“So soon?” You ask.

He stares at you through his shades, not saying a word. You reach for the towel, drying your hair as if he weren’t there.

You wonder if it would come off as a weak move to make a move for your shades. You can stand in front of him with your dick out, but no shades? That’s too far.

You abently push him out of the way of the sink, and look in the mirror. Before you can grab your shades, he steps behind you, pressing against your back. His hands grab your hips from behind, and he leans in, close enough that you can feel his breath on your neck.

Shit, the sight of him grabbing you in the mirror sends a wave of lust through your body. You look at yourself, putty in his hands, one of which slides from your hip up across your bruised torso to your neck. He wraps his hand around your throat. You look down in the mirror, where the evidence of your arousal is quickly growing; you watch your dick twitch and get harder, and somehow watching yourself only turns you on more. He grinds his hips against your ass, and you let out a shaky breath.

He guides you to the side, before letting go and turning you around, pressing you against the door, facing him as he scans your body. He retrieves something from his sylladex, a bottle, which you quickly identify as lube. Can’t say he wasn’t prepared.

He pours some on his fingers, re-captchalogues the bottle, and braces you against the door with his other hand. You swallow, willing yourself not to reach down and touch your dick.

His lubed hand brushes against it, making you involuntarily buck upwards, but his hand goes lower, finding your ass. A slick finger dances around your entrance, and you exhale a sharp breath, reminding you that your ribs feel like death.

He presses into you, curling his finger upwards until— “Oh fuck,” you say, not meaning to. A wave of pleasure courses through you, and he begins rhythmically tapping the same spot inside you. It hurts to breathe this heavily, but fuck if you’re not melting into his hands, moving your hips in time with his ministrations.

He slows suddenly, adds a second digit, and as the second finger strokes your insides, you barely notice when he drops to his knees. You prop yourself up against the door with your elbows, your pelvis jutting out in front of his face. He looks up at your for a brief moment, his fingers move, and then you watch him slide your dick into his mouth, overwhelmed with the sensation of warmth and suction and the white hot feeling pulsing at your insides.

You are, without a doubt, an unparalleled savant of sucking dick. He’s no different, his tongue rolling across the underside of your dick, flicking under the tip, his lips making a tight seal around its circumference, bobbing up and down in a rhythm that matches his finger-fucking.

You close your eyes, your breathing coming out in ragged and heavy pants. Jesus fuck. You think you say that aloud, but you’re so lost in the sensations you can’t really tell.

You can feel yourself getting close, and with no warning, he pulls off, leaving your dick feel cold and exposed to the air. He pulls his fingers out of you and stands up, turning his attention to his belt and jeans. You can excuse the shit he just pulled when you think about the fact that you’re probably about to get fucked against the bathroom door.

He pulls his jeans and boxers down, revealing a very erect dick, which he presses against yours in one grip. The absurdity of seeing two identical dicks, the same down to every minute detail, side by side hits you. You’re getting fucked by your own dick, something which is ordinarily bizarrely hot in concept but impossible in execution.

He grabs your thighs beneath your ass, pressing you further into the door, and then lifts your legs up, and subsequently your entire body. You balance your back against the door and grab onto his shoulders for support. He lets go with one hand, reaches down, and soon you feel the warm tip pressing against your entrance. He buries himself inside you with one quick motion, your ass now flush against his hips. It’s sudden, and you feel a twinge of pain deep in your lower abdomen, but it’s quickly drowned with a wave of pleasure radiating through your body.

He pulls out almost all the way and slams himself back in. You let out an audible moan. He does it again, and again, until he speeds up with a carefully-timed rhythm you think is designed to reduce you to a moaning mess in his arms. The sound of skin against skin echoes in the small room, the sound of sex. Your dick bounces against your stomach, barely any friction but enough to add to the sensation building within you. 

You get close, and a few thrusts later you’re seeing white, as your dick pulses and leaves white streaks across your stomach. He keeps fucking you, the sensation overwhelming, and you slump against the wall in a post-orgasm haze as his hips slam against your skin.

He slows down, fucking you with a few last thrusts, before pulling out. He puts you down.

It takes a moment for you to regain your balance, your legs gelatinous and sore. As he cleans himself up in the sink and redresses, you realize you are now absolutely, disgustingly covered in jizz. Well shit, it looks like you’re taking another fucking shower.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> To be quite honest I'm using this to procrastinate on writing other more substantive things and none of this is edited. It's porn, porn is porn for horniness' sake. Let it be my half-assed offering to the gods of gay sex.
> 
> More chapters incoming, knowing me.


End file.
